Speechless
by hazelmom
Summary: Sara is forced to reflect on her decisions. GSR angst. Final chapter up!
1. Default Chapter

**Chapter 1**

Dust stung her eyes as she looked up. Hot and windy. The sun glared down on the two of them as they dusted the stolen car. There was a movie she saw years ago: Reckless or Restless, or something. It was a forgettable flick but for the scene of this woman sitting on a bench on a hot and windy day. Her chesty, male lover is rubbing an ice cube down the front of her dress. Something about that image stuck with her, and hot, windy days brought out something soft and sensual in her.

"What'cha looking at there, Sunshine." He looked up at her and grinned his best Top Gun grin, his dark shades adding to the image.

"Just wanted to feel the wind." Sara let her dark hair dance freely in the strong breeze. Her white, cotton tank was getting sticky, but she resisted the urge to pull it up some and let the wind dry it. "Nicky, you remember this movie about these two people and he rubs ice on her and she's all worked up, and it's hot and windy…I just can't remember the name of that movie."

"Ah…nope. Sounds like a good show for a bachelor party though."

She flashed him one of her million dollar smiles. Impulsively, she pulled her tank out of her pants and tented it into the wind.

"Ah, Miss Sidle, are you aware that your midriff is on display?"

"Nicky, do you ever have one of those moments when you just …I don't know. You just want run barefoot through a meadow or something."

Nick pulled his shades down his nose, and peered closely at her. "You know you're not supposed to breath in that solvent."

"Oh Nicky, I just like a nice, hot, windy day is all." She lifted her arms above her head and leaned into the wind. Nick shook his head and began to pack his kit.

The insistent sounds of a cell phone erupted. Nick felt his pockets before locating the noise coming from Sara's black bag.

"Sara, it's probably Grissom."

"You get it. I'm communing right now." A dusty film had settled into her shirt.

"Yeah, he'll love that." Nick crawled over his stuff and grabbed her cell. "Hey Grissom…Naw, she's right here. Well, right now she's communing with nature. It's quite a sight actually…Now Grissom, hold on there, I am not trying to be enigmatic, it is exactly what's going on. Hell, if I had a camera right now, I'd be on top of a money making opportunity …Okay, okay boss, I'm just the messenger."

Nick thrust the phone at her. She wrinkled her nose, and grabbed it reluctantly. "Hey…Nope, we're all done here…Haven't been near the solvent, Nicky hasn't either…Yes, I know it can have a hallucinogenic effect…So, what's up?….That's Catherine's case…Okay, but I don't really know anything about the case…

So, you just need a female presence in the interview…Domestic abuse case, huh?…Okay, I'll drop Nick off and meet you in front of the address….hour, okay?….Hey Gris, ever seen this movie where there is man and a woman, and it's hot outside, and he's rubbing a piece of ice down the front of her….ah, never mind. See you in an hour."

"What's up?" Nick finished packing up the back of the SUV.

"Grissom needs a woman." They both stopped at their car doors and grinned madly at each other. Sara grabbed her wild hair and pinned at the back of her neck. Then she winked at her best friend.

"And you know me, Nicky. I aim to please."

**Chapter 2**

"Warrick, we are going to be late." Grissom gestured at his wrist watch.

"Yeah, and you think I can do what about that?" Warrick peered at his boss out of the corner of his green eyes.

"There's gotta be a way around this traffic jam."

"I think they've almost cleared the accident. We should be moving soon." Warrick leaned his head out the window.

"Well you know Sara, she doesn't like to be kept waiting." As if on cue, Grissom's cell began to sound. Warrick let a cool grin spread across his face.

"No, Sara, we're almost there…10 minutes I think. Got behind a pile up here…No you just wait in the car…Not to much to tell. Woman's name is Kari Stinson. She lives there with her three kids. The ex comes and goes as he pleases. Long history of domestics at the house. She never presses charges. Got his fingerprints off the murder weapon…Yeah, the Bellagio case. Thought maybe Stinson might know where we can get our hands on her ex-husband. She's wary though so I thought it might help if someone… a woman was there. Maybe ease her mind about our intentions….I'm not trying to generalize. It just seems like a good idea is all…Just wait. Lab policy. Brass would have your head … I'm serious Sara. Ten minutes. Bye."

"Our Miss Sidle is a tad impatient."

"Yeah, Grissom, what was your first clue?"

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A truck pulled up to the driveway, an old beater. A guy got out and strode up to the house. He wore layers of clothing despite the heat. At the door, he didn't hesitate, just walked right in.

Sara let out a breath hard. She reached over and hit a speed dial on her cell. "Brass?…Hey listen, this suspect you are looking for on the Bellagio thing…What's he look like?….Yeah, I'm in front of the ex-wife's house waiting for Grissom. A guy just drove up, license plates Nevada BTK208. Just walked right in…No, I'm not moving. Going to just wait for you all…So far, it's quiet."

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Grissom picked up his cell on the first ring. "Yeah…he's there!…okay, Sara is not doing anything, right?…How long? I don't know. Warrick?"

Warrick shook his head. "5-10 minutes. Still waiting for the traffic to thin."

"Yeah, I'll call her and tell her….Jim, you're about 10 minutes out?.. Okay, bye." Grissom kept the phone in his hand.

"Sara knows better." Warrick said. At the same time, he started to edge the Denali around to the shoulder of the highway.

Grissom was already tapping into his phone. "Hey…Yeah, I heard…We're almost there so you just relax…No, I'm not saying that you'd do anything stupid, I'm just…Sara?…Sara? What do you see?" Grissom glanced at Warrick who was negotiating the edge of a sidewalk. "Sara, we're almost there."

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The man had a child slung over his shoulder. She was maybe 5 or 6. He dumped her into the back seat. Sara could hear the child screaming for her mother. He disappeared back into the house. Sara craned her neck wildly up and down the street. She grabbed for her gun and checked the clip. Again, she looked for back-up. A scream broke from the house. Shaking, she grabbed the cell phone, fumbling over the numbers. She threw it down in frustration. She breathed in, and picked it up, hitting call return.

"He's hurting them…I'm going in…No choice, Gris, no choice…Please hurry." She felt his voice in her head ordering her to stand down. For a moment, she thought she could, and then the man came out with another child, thrashing wildly in his arms. A small boy this time.

She stuffed the phone in her front pocket. She stepped out, both hands on the gun. The man had disappeared back into the house. She ran across the street to the car. Backdoors locked, but driver's side lock jutted up. Keeping her gun trained on the house, she ran up to the driver's side and pulled the door open. She heard sobs.

"Everyone out." Her voice was shaky and light. There was no movement. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Okay, now, everyone out. Now! Hear me? Now!"

The girl scrambled up to the front first and then reached back and pulled her brother up.

"Where's your best friend live?" The girl looked at her, eyes wide. "Come on Honey. Tell me. Where's your best friend live?" The girl pointed to a house down the street.

"Okay, big girl. Get your brother and go. Go to your friend's. Run! Don't knock! Just get inside."

The girl piled out of the truck pulling her brother after her. She looked at Sara again.

"Run!" Sara watched them scramble down the street. Her phone was ringing again. She pulled it out and slapped it on her face. "Get here, Gris, please get here now." She jammed the phone back down into her pants without listening for a reply.

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"Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!" Grissom exploded. "She's insane, Warrick."

Staring ahead, Warrick was too busy running a red light to respond.

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Nick had everything out on the table. The big one with the light. It was quiet around there. Nobody around to bug him; nobody trying to claim space on his table.

Greg popped his head in. "Nick, the scanner. Hurry! Sara's in it deep."

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Brass closed his phone and slammed his fist into the dash. He turned his head to his driver. "I don't care what the hell administrative memo about safe pursuit you read last week. I want this car in front of that address now!"

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	2. 2

Hi! I am new to this board. Haven't done fan fiction in a few years. Used to do West Wing in the 2nd season. I apologize for any mistakes I am making in pulling this all together. Only started watching CSI two months, but have managed to watch all 5 seasons since then.

I forgot to put a disclaimer up at the beginning. So here it is: I don't own these characters, but am merely borrowing them for my own fiendish purposes.

Sheila

She moved up to the door sideways, gun jutted out in front. It was wide open. Inside, she heard crying. She took a deep breath and swung around through the door. "Police! Everybody down! On the ground!"

She moved in now, swinging her gun left and right. The kitchen appeared straight down the hallway. To the left was the living room. A woman lay half on the couch, half on the carpet, holding her face. A girl perched behind her. The man stood at the staircase. She swung her gun on him, yelling for him to hit the floor. He looked up the stairs for a moment, and then slowly he got down on his knees.

"All the way down! Flat!"

Her gun jerked about in her hands. She wanted to calm herself, be cool she willed herself, but she couldn't find it.

Hey you! You okay?" She was still shouting, spittle formed at the corners of her mouth. The woman nodded, dragging her daughter to her side.

"Okay. Now, I want you to get out of here. Take your girl. Get to a neighbor's. Your little ones are already there." The woman slowly responded. She fixed her eyes at the top of the stairs for a moment.

"It's okay. Go on now." Sara was starting to recognize her voice again. "I'll stay with this guy. Police are almost here.

"My husband ," the woman started. "He's…still here."

"Yeah, I got it lady. Now you go. Okay. Now."

"You don't understand…" The woman's eyes were looking past her now.

Sara turned her head and saw him coming down the stairs at her. He seemed slow as did her arms when she tried to turn her gun at him. He yelled something when he hit her. The gun popped up and out of her hands. The ground hit her hard and he came down on top. There was yelling everywhere. She felt an explosion on the side of her face. She wondered if this was what getting shot felt like. One arm was trapped, and the other was pulling at his hair. Another explosion and the room dimmed considerably. She felt outside herself: no longer panicked, a disinterested observer. The weight was gone for a moment and she turned over. Something hard drove itself into her side. And then again. And again. Her breath left her and she struggled. One more explosion on her chest. Then quiet. She floated for a moment, waiting.

"Ah jeez, you can't do it, Man. She's a cop."

"What else am I supposed to do?" The voice was shaky like her hands were.

"No way, Boyd. I got kids. I agreed to help you get yours, but no way am I gonna sit on death row for you." This voice seemed high, almost like a little girl.

Sara wanted to lift her head and look, but every little movement was electric with pain. She listened to them and wondered if the lab could survive another dead CSI. Would people whisper her name with the same horror that they imparted Holly Gribbs? She wanted to say something, tell them about Holly, explain how killing her would be very complicated for her friends. They should know how much people suffered after Holly was murdered, how much they still hurt.

A siren sounded in the background. The men were shouting now. There was movement everywhere. Sara laid still. She waited for the sound of her own gun.

There was a slam and Sara jerked. Then she was met with silence. No smell of gunpowder. With tremendous effort, she rolled to her side. Her body screamed and she cried out. Her vision cleared slowly and she could see the door. It was closed. She was alone. She noticed sirens. They were loud. She was suddenly conscious of herself lying on the living room carpet. Helpless. A victim. She rolled back onto her belly with a strangled cry. The carpet was scratchy on her face. She crawled one lunge at a time, determined to get to the kitchen , somewhere she didn't feel so terribly exposed. Each pull forward and she cried out, letting the tears have her face.

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Brass was yelling through Grissom's cell phone now. Grissom softly closed it on his old friend. Warrick parked behind Sara's truck. The sirens were loud. Help was coming. They should wait. Brass was loud and clear on this point. But Grissom was out of the truck before Warrick could get it into park. He had never done anything but follow Brass into a scene so he could think of no approach other than going straight for the door.

Warrick was with him trotting alongside, gun drawn. At the door, Warrick motioned. Grissom shook his head. He would go in first. This was his risk. Warrick insinuated himself between the door and Grissom. He didn't move. The point was argued without words. Warrick was the best shot. He was younger, quicker. Grissom finally nodded.

They went through the door, both of them shouting their arrival, swinging guns in all directions. But there was nothing. No sign of life. They breathed heavily into the silence. Warrick's eyes stopped at the carpet. There were stains. Dark, wet stains. Nothing pooled neatly. It was chaotic, and then he spotted the pattern. The trail. Moving away from the living room and down the hallway. He turned to Grissom, but the older man's eyes were already following the trail.

Grissom started and then stopped. He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a breath.

"Please Sara..."

He whispered it quietly, looking not at Warrick but at the trail before him. Warrick stepped ahead, covering the room, moving stealthily like a cat. He motioned to Grissom and they stepped carefully down the hallway, instinctively hugging the wall on either side of the blood trail.

Yelling erupted at the open front door. Grissom and Warrick trained their guns on the sunlight streaming in. They were all shouting at each other, each side ordering the other to the ground. Brass' voice emerged. He shouted them all down. The short, fierce man appeared in the doorway, gun pointed at the floor. He glared at Grissom and Warrick, motioning them back with his head. They stayed still.

"This is what I do," Brass growled through gritted teeth. "How many dead CSI's did you budget for today?" He motioned for a squad to hit the stairs. Then he moved past Grissom and Warrick. The blood trail took a sweeping left at the end of the hallway. Brass crept forward slowly. He heard what sounded like a whimper and stopped. He turned back to look at Grissom and Warrick, they nodded their heads, and he moved around the corner.

"Ah, Sara…" Brass stopped only for a moment, shook his head, and then moved through the kitchen and to the back door.

Warrick stared for a moment. She lay curled up on her side, blood pooling under her face. Her face was red and thick. Grissom dropped to the floor beside her. He lightly touched her shoulder, and she cried out.

He turned to Warrick, but didn't need to say anything. Warrick saw the look on his face, and turned on his heels and ran.


	3. chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing.**

**Also this chapter was written about 5 days ago, I like to stay about 4-5 chapters ahead of what is posted. The fact that No Humans Involved had a boot print last night is pure coincidence.**

**Thanks**

**Sheila**

Nick almost wished they hadn't told him that she had sustained no bullet wounds. He had relaxed when he heard that. He was unprepared for the sight of her badly beaten face. Every movement on the gurney sent waves of pain through her. He could physically see the pain ripple through her. They were talking about lungs and internal bleeding. As if to confirm their conversation, red froth dribbled out of the side of her mouth.

Grissom was with her, one hand on her healthy arm, gently talking to her. He seemed unaware of his surroundings. Paramedics moved him aside periodically as they swarmed around her. Grissom paid no attention. He just edged his way back in.

Warrick stood there, his gun still at his side, unholstered. Nick was going to go up to him, but then Brass was there, one hand on the gun, talking quietly into Warrick's ear. Warrick closed his eyes with the realization, and carefully holstered his weapon. Then Brass walked away again, barking more orders into a cell phone.

There was a woman and her children, occupants of the house. They had stumbled back from the neighbor's in various states of shock. The mother kept one hand on an angry, purple cheek. Her children huddled on the driveway around her.

All of a sudden, Catherine was there. She was wearing a dress. Nick remembered that Lindsay had a dance recital today. Catherine pushed past anyone in her way, and stopped dead in front of the gurney. She was next to him and Nick reached out, but she pushed him away. She reached in to see Sara. Paramedics pushed her back, and she tried again. Nick gently grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back. She struggled for a second, and then turned her face to his. Her eyes were red and puffy.

"This was my case," she hissed into his face. "I should have been here."

Nick shook his head and pulled her in for a hug. Warrick was standing with them now, arms folded awkwardly. Grissom was finally ejected while they loaded her into the ambulance. He turned around and looked at his staff as if unsure how to proceed. His face was red and his eyes looked unfocused.

Brass came over. He started to say something, but Grissom cut him off.

"There is a boot print on her face, Jim. A heel print on her left cheek." His voice was low and dangerous.

Brass breathed in through his teeth and shook his head. "I bet you're ready for some good news then."

Brass had all their attention now. "We got 'em. They're sitting at the local dive not five miles from here swigging shots and planning their next move."

"Where?" Warrick's voice was soft but steady.

"Sorry guys, this party is a private one only. I know you want to see these primates. Just give me a couple of hours to send them through booking. Then I'll have a little conversation with them. You are welcome to join me…well, from behind the glass anyway. I want these guys solid, no missteps, no misplaced aggression. Okay?" Without waiting for a reply, Brass turned and strode off in the direction of a waiting police car.

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Sara wished everyone would talk to her more. They could see she was still awake. How the hell could anyone sleep with these bright lights and the poking and prodding on her tortured body. They threw out words like surgery from time to time, and she was seriously interested in more information about that.

She tried to talk but pain jolted through her face when she tried to open her mouth. Surely, this was a joke. It wasn't bad enough that she had been severely beaten by a couple of low life thugs, now they took away her speech. She narrowed her eyes and grunted her disapproval. A nurse stopped for a moment and smiled at her.

"It's okay, sweetie, you're going to be okay," she crooned before returning to her IV.

She grunted again and swung her free arm out wildly. An answering grunt told her she made contact with something.

"All right now, no hitting the doctor," came a gritted reply as her arm was coaxed back to the side.

Like she was the 5 year old girl, this is how they spoke to her. She moaned her helplessness softly as tears of frustration burned her cheek. They stung as they rolled into the abrasions on her face.

There was movement at the curtain and voices, insistent ones. Someone was speaking her name to the people working on her. Mumbled replies were given, she could make out nothing more than her name. Then the nurse sighed and nodded.

Grissom's face loomed above hers blocking out the glare of the light. She tried to speak, tell him what she needed, but the pain took over again. All she had were her wet, brown eyes.

"Hey you. I hear you punched the doctor. They don't like that, you know. Bet you want to know what's going on, don't you? They don't really know the patient, easygoing Sara we do." His hand squeezed hers and she squeezed back hard.

He winced a little. "Oooh, as bad all that then. Well okay, how about we get you up to speed."

"So they got some X-rays, and they are looking them over now. They wanted to know what's broken and what's bleeding. They are thinking of surgery, but we are hoping to wait on that. Body can do a tremendous amount of healing on its own." His voice was like a glass of cool water.

She nodded at him jerkily.

"The gang's all here. You got a lot of support out there, Sara. Doc Robbins is here. He elbowed his way into the X-ray room. Pretty much didn't give them a choice. We're hoping he can give us an update. You know how we CSI's are for plain talk. No sugar coated conversation for us."

Her face attempted a small grin, but quickly aborted the effort. He smiled down at her.

"I'm in their way now, but I'll stay if you want."

She nodded and new tears wet her lashes.

"Okay, no need for all that now. I'm not going anywhere. So…let's see. What else to tell you? Greg's here. He's pacing like a pit bull at the dog pound. Didn't respond to repeated feedback so Archie threw his coffee at him. So now Greg's sulking some. Making threats about Archie needing to replace his expensive UNLV t-shirt. David ate 4 candy bars out of the machine. He's doubled over now. Jacqui is trying to get some syrup of Ipecac out of the nurse. And your buddies….well, they are down at the police station staring at your attackers through the mirror. Brass isn't going to let them get any closer than that. Kind of sorry I'm missing it though. Brass can get pretty poetic in there when he's mad. I like watching him when he wants to carve their hearts out with a butter knife. I imagine they're going to be sorry their mothers ever met their fathers…But, really I would much rather be here making sure the hospital staff is safe and that you are well informed."

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Warrick was disappointed. His rage surely should be awarded by the presence of pure evil. But the two men he saw through the glass looked like nothing more than a couple of half drunk losers. It was amazing how often stupid and mean together could result in viciousness.

Beside him, Catherine was focused like a hawk, her face right to the glass. Warrick let a grin form at one end of his mouth at the picture of Catherine in the interrogation room. They would get over their misogyny real quick. It would be replaced with a life long fear of the fairer sex.

And then there was Nicky whose jaw was set tight as he stared at the suspects. Nick was an interesting man. Once he chose a friend, that was it. He was loyal and solid and fierce. Warrick had learned this first hand, and he appreciated what Nick taught him about friendship. Nick was going to feel Sara's pain. He was going to wonder what he could have done and where he should have been. Sara was probably going to find it a struggle to leave the lab on her own ever again.

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Brass shook his head at the two men seated before him. Right now they were playing the role of upstanding citizens baffled by the actions of the Vegas police force. They weren't convincing, not asking the right questions, outraged by the wrong things. Brass figured that he would have this in hand within the next half hour.

"Hey man. When are we going to get our shoes back?" The ex-husband sat back with his arms folded.

"Probably not getting 'em back, boys. You see, one of them is going to be the match to the print we found on your victim's face." Brass shrugged. "Don't worry though. Where you're going, they can set you up with a nice pair canvas tennis shoes.

"We didn't hurt that cop."

"She's not a cop, boys?"

"So you're saying that she wasn't a cop, and therefore whoever hit her isn't facing the mandatory maximums. And if she had been murdered, it wouldn't have been automatic death penalty case, right?" asked the ex-husband. His cousin shook his head and glared at him.

Brass stopped and stared at them. "So that's the reason you didn't kill her then. You didn't want the death penalty. You had her gun and you pointed it at her, but you didn't want to be another cop killer on death row."

"We don't know what you're talking about."

Brass sat down heavily in a chair and put his head in his hands. He sat like that for a moment. When he raised his head, his voice was soft. "You didn't kill her because you thought she was a cop. I suppose I should thank you for that."

"We're not saying anything."

Brass shook his head slowly. "No, and I don't really want you to say anything. It doesn't matter. We have your boots. We have proof that your truck was in the driveway at the time of the attack. We have your ex-wife, and she will sign a statement on this. I guarantee you this. We have her gun, no doubt sporting your prints…Yeah, I think we doing just fine right now without your statement. In fact, I'd prefer to just put down your refusal to cooperate."

The two men looked at one another for a moment. Brass got up and moved to the door. "Better call public defender, boys. You're going to need some representation.."

"Hey! Listen to me."

"Naw. Really. It's okay. I'm happy with how things stand."

"Please, I want to talk."

Brass stopped at the door and waited.

"Will it make a difference if I talk now? Will that make a difference?" Brass didn't need to turn his head to know that he was listening to the cousin. "I was the one who protected her. I was the one that kept him from shooting her."

The ex-husband shook his head and looked away.

"Can we talk?" The cousin was scared and showing it.

"You're the smart one, buster. She's not a cop, but she's still law enforcement. Same penalties apply. You didn't shoot her, buster. Good for you. Instead of shooting her, you almost beat her to death. I looked at those boots, you know. They're going to find that you were the one that drop kicked her in the face. Want to make a statement? Talk to the deputy." Brass walked out, closing the door behind him.


	4. chapter 4

**I'm having fun now. Wrote a Catherine/Grissom conversation that I really like. Not in this chapter though. Next one, I think.**

**Anyway, I have appreciated comments. They are very kind.**

**Disclaimers: not mine. I adore them anyway.**

Nicky leaned a red rose under her nose. He had taken time on this rose, finding the ripest, most aromatic one the store had. Sara loved the smell of flowers. She liked to drop her face in a bouquet and breathe in deep. And then she would look up with the most dreamy smile. Her nose wrinkled and her eyes fluttered open. Then she was looking at him. It wasn't everything he hoped for, but it was a start.

"Hey Sunshine." Nick grew a smile for her.

Her eyes were gauzy and soft.

"It's no fun at the lab without you, girl…" Nick stopped for a moment. It was hard to tell if Sara was with him or not.

Her eyes wandered for a moment and then settled on him. He took a breath and started again. "So Grissom says that you probably want an update on things. Says you're a little impatient about the lack of information coming your way."

Nick waited, but she stayed focused on him. "…So, here's what we know. You have several fractures: two ribs, the right side of your collarbone, your left cheek bone, and your jawbone, but you can probably tell all of that. You did have some internal bleeding, Darling. A little in the kidneys. A little puncture in your lungs. But you're a strong one, Sara. You were able to pull it together without surgery. You're going to be here for probably a week yet, but then you'll be ready to set the world on fire."

He stopped again, waiting for a reaction. Sara looked away for a moment. He thought he saw her shiver a little. She finally turned to him again.

Nicky took a breath. "So, cupcake, what do you say? Is that enough for one day? Let you get some rest. Talk more tomorrow?"

She shook her head. She reached out and held his arm. He smiled, took her hand in his, and settled back into his chair. "Okay…well, what else is there? Oh yeah, how did I forget? Grissom called your mom and dad."

Sara's eyebrows jumped and Nick chuckled. "Now just calm down there. Everything's okay. Grissom finessed it. No, no, I'm serious. He really did a song and dance. Talked about your injuries real casual. Smooth. Who would have known he had it in him. Started about a conversation about rheumatoid arthritis. Did fifteen minutes on how your mom should consider hydrotherapy for her joints. He was a regular Wayne Newton. I'm just glad your mother didn't have a room key."

Sara started to choke. Nick was halfway out of his chair before he realized that she was laughing. He settled back. He was starting to relax.

"So, you want to hear more? Okay, well you know how Greg kind of has his Grissom moments. You know he likes to call him, Grimace, when he is particularly resentful." Sara started to snort again. "Yeah, you got it. He accidentally called him Grimace to his face. Then he climbed under the table in the DNA lab. Well, no, he didn't climb under anything. Just looked like he wanted to. And you know Gris, he just raised an eyebrow and walked away."

He couldn't find the smile on her purple, swollen face, but he thought he could see it in her eyes.

"So you want to hear a Bobby story?" Her overeager nod ended in a groan. He laughed and patted her lightly on the good shoulder. "Okay. Well, you know old Bobby. Since the day he met me, he's considered me kin of some kind. It's a Texas thing, you know. And Bobby, well he likes to get in my ear and have a little ol'boy conversation from time to time. And he's super secretive about these conversations, you know. Always acts like he went off to some kind of sensitivity training where he decided that any and all unprofessional or extracurricular type conversations should only be conducted with other Texans. And, of course yesterday, he's in my ear about how if your perps were in Texas right now, we'd take 'em back behind the courthouse for a little cowboy justice…you know, real wink, wink, and…."

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For awhile there was only sleep and dreams. Lots of dreams. They all sorted weaved in and out of themselves, never quite sure where they started and stopped. There was one dream that was very vivid for Sara. Grissom was in it. He was sitting in the chair next to her, ignoring her as usual. He just kept chatting away about things that Sara couldn't understand. She starts talking to him. In the dream, she tells him that she has always wanted to touch his beard; she always wondered if it was coarse. He continues to ignore her so she reaches up and feels it. It surprises her. It's softer than she imagined. She brushes the palm of her hand along his jawbone and back again. She tells him that he is pretty, prettier than she is. She says it is because of his blue eyes, silver hair and smooth skin, and oh, there is something about his nose. She reaches above his beard as she explains this and strokes his cheek. He starts to laugh and this annoys her. She is trying to have a conversation with him and he won't listen to her. Sharply, she tells him she is not a child. She drops her hand from her face, and he takes it, holds it. He is still laughing, but now the sound of it comforts her. She tells him that he is exquisite, that she has always felt that, and that she has never understood why. She says she feels his heart. Then she laughs because she realizes that this makes no sense. She tries to explain but it's confusing even to her. He is off on another tangent again, and so she gives up, closes her eyes, and goes back to sleep.

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She was awake when Brass came to see her. He came in silently, and without flowers or a card. No attempt at a smile or any of the sweet cooing she got from all of her other visitors. He simply walked over to her side of the bed, leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek. She was startled by his display. He sat down next to her. He was so solemn. She kept her eyes on him and waited. She had some idea what he needed to say. He stopped and started a couple times, but his bushy brows stayed trained on her.

"I'm not sure that this is the right time to talk to you about this. All I know is that you are currently trapped in that bed which is no small feat. And you could use this time for a little reflection if you so choose. And the fact that you can't talk back to me has its upside."

He stopped again, and she reached out and grabbed his hand. She was intrigued by the fact that she was becoming this very tactile person.

"Yeah, Sara. I..uh, need to talk to you about how very angry I am at you right now. You went against everything that I and your supervisor explicitly told you to do. You went into a dangerous situation without back-up. You are not trained to do this. Hell, I'm not trained to do it. We have these policies for a reason, Sara!"

The volume of this last remark startled him as much as it did her. He took a deep breath and slowed himself. I would much rather that Grissom was having this conversation with you, but he's just so damn giddy that you're breathing that he can't muster up anything but relief right now. You know, Sara, I can't even call you a hero right now. I don't know that you saved anybody out there. I only know that you added yourself as a victim to that situation two days ago."

Tears started but her eyes never left his. "We were minutes behind you. Just minutes, Sara. Honestly, I don't know what's wrong with you sometimes. If you were mine to fire right now…" He shook his head and looked away. She tried to let go of his hand, but he held on and leaned in. "I still have nightmares about Holly Gribbs, and I only knew her a week. You have too many people that care about you, Sara. This is not just about your life anymore."

He let go of her now, and got up. He tried a smile, but it came out looking like a grimace. "You're not going to get fired. You and your antics were the top story two nights in a row. The sheriff loves the good press you're bringing us, and so, of course, Ecklie loves you too. And as for Grissom…well, let's just say he doesn't have the greatest perspective when it comes to you. Oh, and before I go, I'm supposed to tell you that Grissom left some things for you. He was here earlier. He says he tried to explain things to you but you were out of it. There's a little dry erase board and a book of sign language. He says your jaws are going to be wired shut for at least another two weeks. And we all know how you love to have the last word."

This time he smiled at her. After he left, she realized that she could have talked to him on the dry erase board. She wished he would have stayed so she could write down I'm sorry over and over until it covered every inch of the board.

………………………………

"The…nurses…don't sign here," her fingers formed the words crudely, and so she used her face to indicate her frustration.

"You'd be surprised, Sara." Grissom used his hands and his voice.

"Only two weeks," she slowly spelled.

"Okay, but I thought you were the one who wanted to learn how to sign. Here's your chance."

Sara grabbed the dry erase board and started writing. She thrust the board at him.

"I know you want to talk, Sara. But you're going to have to find some patience. You might really have to think about what you have to do and say before you do it. That can't be bad, right?"

She picked up the book and threw it at him. He picked it up off the floor and put it back on the bed. She rolled her eyes. She could see he intended to drive her crazy with his patience.

"So you don't want to talk right now." Grissom took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "Well, I probably should get back to work now."

"No!" Sara was emphatic.

"Good job, Sara. You're really learning how to relax your hands. Very clear. Tell me something more." He carefully pushed the book toward her hands. She reached for the dry erase board, but he reached over and gently took it away from her.

She grabbed the book and started leafing through. She stopped and started working her hands slowly.

"Sleep?" Grissom asked. She nodded.

"What sleep?" he signed back to her.

"You sleep?"

He looked puzzled.

"You no sleep." she declared. Then she spelled the word tired.

"I'm okay. There's a lot to do, and…we were all so worried about you."

Her brow furled. Again she spelled. "I am stupid."

"Don't spell everything."

Frustrated, she returned to the book. After a few minutes, she tried again. "I was wrong. I am sorry."

He nodded at her. "Yes, Sara, you were wrong. Jim told me he talked to you."

"He is mad."

"Yes, he is, but he cares. You know that."

"Are you mad?" She squeezed her eyes in an attempt to hold back the tears.

"You need to learn to trust."

"I don't understand." Sara's fingers talked with no hesitation.

Grissom thought for a moment before he replied. "You are not the only one who cares for the victim. If you waited, we wouldn't have failed you. Even if they had gotten away with those kids, we would have stopped them. You gotta trust me."

"I do."

"Think about it, Sara. Just think about it." Grissom looked at his watch. "This is enough for today. You need to rest. I need to work." Sara wanted to stop him. She wanted to listen, she felt finally ready to listen, but she didn't reach out to him as she had with everyone else. This newfound intimacy failed her when it came to Grissom.

She attacked the book in front of her and he was at the door before she could respond. She slapped the table to get his attention. "Come tomorrow?" she signed.

"We'll see."

"Please. I will practice."

Grissom smiled at her and nodded. She spent the rest of the day trying to remember everything they talked about so she could practice responses.

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Sara stood in front of a mirror for the first time. She was amazed by how yellow she was. She had anticipated the purple and the green, but her skin seemed so yellow. For the last week, she had been encouraging visitors to come when the whole time they were looking at this. The swelling made her face look almost square. The rest of her was stiff and sore, every movement considered before attempted.

She tried the smile she had been giving people over the last couple of days. It was nothing more than a stressed line across her face. She made a mental note to refrain from facial expressions for the time being.

Worst of all, she looked skinny. Very skinny. Ghostly pale. The kind of skinny she was in high school when all the boys called her names and teachers regularly checked in about her eating habits. A wave of frustration rippled through her. She felt trapped by all of this. She longed to get in her truck and take off; leave all of this behind, and return only if she wanted. But she was trapped by healing bones and weak muscles, and a face that stopped people dead in their tracks. She turned back to her bed moving slowly. The sign language book was open and already looking worn. Grissom had been coming daily and she had been practicing hard. The highlight of her days was impressing him with her improvement. She was good enough already so that she could go two or three minutes of conversation without referring to the book. He was due in about an hour, and now that she knew what he saw when he walked in, she was dreading it.

She sat for a moment and then hit the call button. She grabbed the dry erase board and started scratching on it. Finally the nurse came in. She looked at the board and then cocked her head at Sara.

"You want me to call Dr. Grissom and tell him you're too tired for a visit?

Sara nodded.

"You look pretty good, Sara, and you know how much you look forward to the visits. Are you sure?"

Sara nodded emphatically.

"Okay, Hon, I'll take care of it."

Sara waited until her nurse left. Then she climbed under the covers. For a long time, she couldn't find any sleep, and so she stared at the ceiling turning blocks of tiles into mathematical equations.

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	5. chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own. I merely play with them.**

**Thanks for the feedback. It is appreciated.**

**Sheila**

"I don't know. I don't know. I don't know." Nick sat back in his chair and let out a sigh. Then he shoved a black book across the table to Warrick.

"Come on, Man. You just gotta give it some time." Warrick pushed the book back.

"Uh-huh, you do it. You're Mr. Frickin' IQ."

"Okay, Nicky, first of all, I don't know how I got to be Mr. Frickin' anything. Second, you know I am hip deep trying to get evidence off the victim's sweater."

"Warrick, puzzles are not my thing."

"Nick, it's a planner not a rubik's cube." Warrick was quickly losing his cool.

"Sara is better at this. She's good at unraveling codes and abbreviations and such."

"Sara's not here."

"She's getting out of the hospital today."

"Yeah, and she still has to do 4 weeks rehab."

"I'm just sayin'."

"That's great, Nick. Let's put her on a case where a woman has had her head bashed in so hard that Doc Robins is still pulling pieces of the glass paperweight out of her head. I got the crime scene photos here. Let me grab the close-ups on the victim's face, and then you run them over to her apartment." Warrick pushed a folder of photos at Nick.

Nick opened his mouth and closed it. The best he could manage was a slow shake of his head before getting up and walking out.

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"MMmmmm!" Sara fussed as Catherine pulled her snarled hair back in a ponytail. Sara grimaced as Catherine skillfully pulled the tangles out.

"Yes, Sara, I know, but you can't do your hair that well with one hand, and you can't go walking out of this room looking like the birds have gone to nest." Catherine finished the ponytail and stood back to admire.

"You look good."

Sara threw her a dark look, and Catherine returned it with a smile.

"So like I was telling you earlier, a few of the guys back at the lab were more than a little skeptical when I told them I was taking you home and that I was going to stay on for a couple of days. Well, me and Lindsay, of course." Catherine busied herself stuffing cards and gifts into a duffle bag.

"They said that you were probably not going to be too happy to have someone take over like that for a few days; especially without consulting with you first. Well, I told them that some of the most vicious criminals in Nevada have tried to intimidate me, and so there's nothing that a Sara funk is going to do to bother me in the least."

Sara's eyes followed her as Catherine reduced her life at the hospital to a duffle and a backpack.

"So there is really nothing more to say because we are going to have such fun." Catherine crooned. Sara couldn't tell if Catherine was trying to be nice or just getting a kick out of the discomfort Sara was feeling about having her life co-opted.

"And you know, Lindsay is nuts for you. She has been a very worried girl. I told her that we were going to rent about a million movies, eat popcorn, and order in pizza every meal for the next 48 hours. Aw shit! I forgot that you can't eat regular stuff. Do you want me to blend it?"

Sara made a face at her.

"Okay, well then plenty of milkshakes for you and pizza for us. So my mom will be bringing her over to your place in the next hour or so. I thought we should give you some time to lose the angry face."

Sara signed at Catherine.

"Oh no, girl, don't try that sign language business with me. I know Grissom has been after you with his 'our world is a classroom' crap, but I have enough to do without becoming an expert in every little thing that interests him. Hell, he'd have us all chasing beetles around the desert on our days off if he had his way." said Catherine as she dug the dry erase board out of the duffle.

Sara scribbled out, "this is too much for Lindsay!!!!"

Catherine shook her head. "No, it's not. She cares about you. Acts like you're her teen-age best friend. You have to remember that this is a girl who almost drowned in a viaduct after her father was killed. I want her to know the facts about life, and I want her to see you getting better."

"I might disappoint her." Sara wrote.

"Not unless they kicked all of the stubbornness out of you, girl. Now, unless you plan to get back into that bed, I suggest you let me help get your shoes on so we can go."

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"So, we got a problem here, don't we guys?" Brass said to his assembled colleagues. "Kind of hard to keep things together when the girls are gone, huh?."

Warrick let out a breath and shook his head. Greg turned his spiky head to check on Nick who was intently staring at the floor, arms folded tightly.

"Got your attention yet?" Brass stood his ground. Silence ruled the moment.

Grissom peered his head around the corner. "You wanted to talked to me?"

"Yeah, Gil, come on in. I was busy provoking your guys."

Grissom sat down slowly, pulling his glasses from his face. "Got a reason for that, Jim?"

"Well, I think so. We got a case here, a real rough one. And I'm getting nothing from these guys."

"Vivian Wilson? Blunt force trauma to the head, right?"

"Yeah, that's the one. You know, the case where you are no where to be found." Brass faced Grissom, his short stature belying his strong presence.

"Okay, Jim, make your point."

"We know who did it. It's the boyfriend or should I say ex. He's so good for this. Second ex-girlfriend in four years to end up dead. Hell, Vivian Wilson was his alibi on the first dead girl. Now he's got girlfriend number 3 giving him an alibi for Vivian. It stinks."

Grissom turned his attention to Warrick. Warrick shrugged his shoulders. "She's clean. No foreign DNA on her. As far as we can tell, she was in the room all by herself."

"Oh, great. So the paperweight just fell off the mantel and wedged itself into her skull."

"Look, Brass, I get it. We're all tired. Stressed. We're short-handed because one of our friends, one of our own, was almost killed. But be careful of what you're saying, Man, 'cause Warrick and I have been doing doubles on this case all week." Nick's voice was low.

"We got nothing?" Grissom surveyed the three criminalists in front of him.

"Ah, there's a planner. Weird markings inside. Nicky asked me to work on it for him. I can't figure it out." Greg waded in cautiously.

"What, Greg. It's an ancient text?" Grissom's impatience often found its way to the top around the younger man.

"Nope. It's in English. Markings. Sort of like the…anorexic girl last year, but sort of not."

"And why do we like this book?"

"It was hidden in the cushions of the couch in the room where she was killed. Vivian Wilson was…potentially hiding this book from the ex-boyfriend. What's his name?" Nick made eye contact with Brass for the first time.

"Larry Madison, you should meet this cocky son of a …"

"Okay! We got it, Jim. You like him."

"I may not be some science nerd running around peering at life through a microscope, but I got instincts, and, on this one, boy, you could take them to the bank."

"All right, guys. You start over."

"What do you mean?" Warrick shifted forward in his seat.

"I mean from the beginning. Go over the crime scene again. And if you can't find one piece of forensic evidence, then you need to sit down and figure out how a guy like Larry Madison can kill a woman and yet leave nothing of himself at the scene. So, who's looking at the old case?"

"It's out of Bairstow, we're still waiting for the file." said Greg with a suspicious look on his face.

"Okay, Greggo. Time for you to get in some fieldwork. I'd say Bairstow is only about a 7 hour drive. Why don't you get up there and get your hands on that file. When you get back, come find me. We'll go over the case together."

Greg swallowed hard.

Grissom turned to leave and stopped. He looked at Jim. "I'm not that hard to find, you know. Just right here in my office. If you got something you want to say to me, you can come find me there."

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Sara found herself enjoying a movie called Clueless. Lindsay had picked it out. In fact, Lindsay had picked them all out because Sara wouldn't get out of the car, and Catherine was not that interested in any form of entertainment that wasn't right there, breathing in front of her. The kid had some good taste Sara had to admit. But there was a limit to the amount of teen-age angst one person could take. Sara wondered if Lindsay was really telling her the truth when she said the store was out of PBS Nova documentaries.

Catherine had busied herself around Sara's condo for the first hour, ordered pizza, made some phone calls, and asked her and Lindsay if they needed anything at least 14 times at last count. Now she was sitting at the dining room table drumming her fingers on the table. Sara was beginning to realize that Catherine had almost no domestic bone in her body which , in some ways explained the long hours at work. The finger drumming was beginning to sound like a big brass band to Sara. Before she could say anything, Lindsay jumped in, telling her mother that the finger thing had to stop as it was ruining everything. Comments like that burst from Lindsay approximately every fifteen minutes.

Lindsay liked to roll her eyes at Sara when she did this as if Sara was complicit in the whole 'my mom is a complete idiot' campaign. She made it look like she and Sara shared 'Catherine is so stupid' stories in the bathroom between movies. Sara kept her face as blank as possible during these exchanges. She wasn't up to being on the bad side of either of these two strong females.

Sara wanted to communicate to Catherine that she could go, drive around, do whatever, but she got the sense that Catherine was doing a penance of some kind. She stayed stubbornly cheerful with every verbal hardball from Lindsay, and was on her feet every time Sara tried to move.

Sara knew that, like it or not, she was going to be the subject of the Willow's brand of hospitality for the next two days.

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	6. chapter 6

"Nicky! Warrick! Glad you could make it. I know how busy you guys are." Brass was giving an opening night performance. Nick eyed him suspiciously. He was not interested in any more theatrics at his expense. "Listen, there is someone here I want to introduce you to. This is Mr. Larry Madison. Came down just to see how we were progressing on his friend, Vivian Wilson's murder. Tragic!"

With anyone else, it would be clear that this scene was being terribly overplayed, but there was something about Jim Brass. It was almost as if he believed in the snake oil he was selling. Suspects never quite knew where he started and where he ended. They spent so much time trying to read him that they often lost themselves in their own lies.

Larry Madison sat down at the interrogation table with a great deal of wariness. His bloodshot eyes and greasy hair looked to Warrick like signs of a possible itinerant gambler. He seemed to know he was in the lion's den, but was not sure of how hungry the lions were.

"So Larry thought he would come down today to see how we were progressing on the investigation. Larry knew Vivian for several years, and has kept in touch despite a break-up of what….a year ago."

"Yeah, Vivian's been a long time friend. I've been real upset about this whole situation."

"So Larry thought that maybe we could update him." Brass looked over at the criminalists.

"Well, Mr. Madison, I'm afraid we don't have anything to report just yet. Ah…key pieces of evidence are still under analysis." Nick turned to Warrick to see if he had anything to add. Warrick preferred to sit silently, arms folded, staring intently at Larry Madison.

Larry Madison smiled. In that smile, Warrick found more than just the usual clodhopper who popped his girlfriend and then ran through the backyard bushes. "Gentlemen, I am aware that this is an ongoing investigation and I certainly appreciate your time. It's just that Vivian has a son you see, and I am watching out for the boy's interests. Simon, who is 11 and lives with his Grandmother in San Ysidro, is quite broken up about his mother's death, and, of course, wants some mementos, some memories."

Brass cocked his head and snuck a glance at Warrick who returned an imperceptible shrug.

"The boy has an active imagination, and when he comes to visit his mother, they play games, spy games. And Simon and his mother wrote up a codebook of sorts, and the boy wants it. Says that it is something that he and his mother did together. It would make no sense to anyone else. Anyway, I was wondering if anyone here has come across such an item, I would like to send it to the boy."

"Mr. Madison, you do understand that Ms. Wilson's home is still a crime scene. Nothing can be removed." Nick stated.

"Of course, I just thought since it would have no bearing on the case, and well, you can talk to the boy if you would like. I could bring him in."

"Yes, yes, Larry, I am sure you would. But this is out of our hands. There is strict policy in regards to all items at a crime scene, if in fact we have such an item. Listen, I understand your devotion to the dead Ms. Wilson. State records show that she was able to help you out of a very tight jam not more than four years ago. An different ex, brutally murdered, and no one to alibi you except for Vivian Wilson. Truly, you owe her a tremendous debt. If there is something we can do to help pay that debt, well…we'll be in touch, Sir." Brass stared at Madison, matching his oily smile.

Madison retrieved the expensive leather coat draped behind the chair and left without another word.

"Does he just not care?" Nick turned to his colleagues. "He's going to put all his cards on the table right now."

"We call it a bluff, Nicky," Warrick sighed. "He wants us to know that he's not going fold no matter what we got. He knows that we can't find any physical evidence of his presence. Even if we find out how he did it, we might not be able to prove it with evidence."

"Only thing in our corner right now is that crazy, damn book you guys have been staring at for the last four days." Brass gave his colleagues a pointed look.

"We're still working on it," was the best that Nicky had to offer.

"Okay, but you get what I mean about him being a cocky son of a bitch, don't you? We are not going to let this rest, my friends. No way. No how."

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Sara peered through the spy hole on her door. Thick, strands of wet hair partially obstructed her view, but there was no mistaking the particular look of a Mr. Warrick Brown. She undid the latch and opened the door. He came in, and gave her a big hug. It was her first since the event. It unnerved her that someone was unperturbed by her physical state. She extricated herself and stood back.

"Oh, sorry, did I bruise you, kiddo?"

She shook her head, waves of wet, untamed hair covering her face.

"Well, today is my day to take you to the doc, and if I am not mistaken, you are going to be able to start moving those jaws after this visit. I may be witness to the first Sara smile in four weeks."

Sara winced at the Hall and Oates reference, a lifelong occupational hazard of this particular name.

"Maybe we could go out afterward, meet up with some of the gang. Hardly anyone has seen you since the hospital." Warrick spoke gently. His intuition amazed her sometimes. He seemed to sense her reticence.

Sara shook her head and looked away.

"Hey, listen, Sara, you are looking good. Really, I mean it. You have to remember I was there when we found you. I was…we were all so scared for you. And you have come a long way."

Sara wanted to hear the kindness of his words, but she could find nothing but shame and fear. She squeezed her eyes tightly against the tears that seemed to stalk her daily.

Warrick walked up to her, and draped an arm over her shoulder. He spoke into her ear in a voice that should be reserved for God or paying customers. "Sara," he said, "I adore you. You know that. But sometimes you are as crazy as a march hare. You are recovering. And you are getting better. And looking better. And you need to be happy about this. I mean, soon, I am going to have fierce, impatient, relentless Sara back at work dogging me for results on evidence I have had in my hands for five minutes and bossing me around at crime scenes. You are going to sterilize the break room every day, and throw away take out that I put in the refrigerator just the shift previous. You are going to work harder, get more overtime, snap at Grissom for little or no reason, glare at Greg, scare David, and generally annoy every breathing thing in the lab when you get back. And, Sara, I can't wait because we miss you very, very much."

She signed 'I hate you' to him. But Warrick was no more a prisoner to Grissom's interests than Catherine was, and so he just smiled at her. Finding no comprehension, she reached in and hugged him tightly.

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Greg glared at the book in front of him. It was a planner, plain and black, with dates. There were entries on every day: letters and numbers. A profusion of them actually. Painstakingly noted, sometimes a hundred entries on each date. Greg played with the entries; wrote them out in patterns and combinations, but nothing made sense. Clearly it was something that the author engaged in daily as all of the dates were filled.

Hypothesizing that it contained information for a bookie or it was some kind of code for gambling, Greg brought it to Warrick. But Warrick recognized nothing. He also made it clear that he was not an expert in all things illegal in Vegas.

Brass gave him the rap sheet on Madison, but there was really nothing on it other than a few aggravated assaults and a petty burglary. Greg was lost. The certainty of DNA work was absent in the more deductive field of investigation. If Sara was here, she would be working on this with him. Despite her reputation for impatience, Sara could work on something minute non-stop for days.

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"Hey Catherine!" he called as she walked by his door. Catherine stopped and popped her head in. "Sara is still not answering her phone. When did you talk to her last?"

Catherine thought for a moment. "Probably two days ago. Offered to bring Lindsay over again but she said she was too tired."

"She's not answering her phone," said Grissom. "I've called her every day for the last four. She doesn't even answer my voice mails."

"Yeah, I wish she wouldn't isolate herself like that. But, you know, she went through a lot. I mean, it's…different for a woman I think. Not just the physical stuff, it's the powerlessness. And the anger because the aggression is so distinctly male."

"Do you think that's why she has been avoiding me? Glasses off his face, regarding his old friend.

"Oh hell, maybe. She's struggling, and you are the one that means the most to her. Maybe she's afraid of what you think when you see her. Or maybe she's worried that you don't see her at all."

"I don't know what you are talking about." A distinct defensiveness clouded his words.

"Oh, get over it, Gil. You mean a lot to her. We all know it. And it would be nice if you stop pretending that you didn't know what the hell I was talking about every time I brought up the subject."

"Catherine.."

"No. I'm serious. If you want to have this conversation, fine. Let's have it. But if you want to sit there with a blank look on your face every time we talk about Sara, then let's just forget it. Save your charades for someone else." Catherine turned to leave.

"Please Catherine. Talk to me. I need your advice." Grissom was not able to meet her eyes.

"Then talk back to me like…an old friend who doesn't understand what the hell is happening with between him and his employee. Confused is okay. But ignorant for a man of your intelligence is just stupid." Brushing her blonde hair off her face, she settled into the chair across from him.

"Surely, you know that this is dangerous territory for me."

"Ah…some acknowledgement of the slippery slope. Good first step."

"I don't know what to do about her."

"Wow! An immediate jump into the deep end. I'm…surprised."

"Cath! I need your help not your sarcasm." His discomfort was evident in his hands, restless, as they sought a place on his desk.

"Gil, there is no answer to this. Feelings are risky. There is no certainty. They're explosive. That's what makes them worth having." A smile crept to one side of her mouth.

"Yeah, Cath, this is not helping."

"I don't know how to say this." She dropped her head into her hands. "Okay. Let me try this. A love worth risking is a love worth pursuing."

"Cite your source." He was staring at her intently.

"Catherine Willows, you asshole. What do you think? I have time to sit in a meadow and memorize sonnets. Just because my marriage was a study in bad relationships doesn't mean I don't know a whole lot about feeling a fire in your heart. Geez, Grissom." Her passion had her on her feet and pacing.

"I didn't mean to suggest that you didn't…."

"Oh, shut up. Listen. I'm not telling you to jump between the sheets with Sara." Grissom gestured wildly at the open doorway. She looked at the doorway and then laughed at him. "Okay, so you can be passionate about some things." She lowered her voice. "But Grissom, you gotta be real. If the girl means something to you, quit sneaking her entomology books for Christmas and calling her in on her days off and then ignoring her once she gets here. Quit staring at her when she's not looking, and then standing mute when she yells at you about your bullshit. Be real. She deserves it. She is probably the most real person I know. Every tear. Every smile. Every impatient comment or disgusted look. Do you ever wonder why she is so frustrated with you?"

"I didn't know she was frustrated with me." He spoke softly.

She just stared at him. "Are you autistic?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, it would be nice if you had a good reason for being this out of touch."

"Should I do something?"

"She's hurting. Ashamed. Angry. Self-conscious. You mean the most to her. Do the math." Catherine turned to go.

"I've been calling."

"Wow. Really pulled out all the stops, didn't you?"

"You're back to sarcasm."

"Always take that as a hint that you're coming up short in the insight department." With that, she disappeared around the door. Grissom wondered if there was a way for her to forget they had ever had this conversation.


	7. chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Just borrowing them. I understand that they belong to others.**

**I am going out of the country tomorrow for a couple of weeks. I will try to post the rest before I go.**

**I appreciate the nice feedback coming this way. **

**Thanks, Sheila**

**Chapter 7**

The pounding on her front door was incessant. The sound of it was only interrupted by periodic messages on her answering machine. She knew exactly who was at her door.

Beep! "Sara, I know you're in there….This is my fourth message since I got here. And I am not leaving. So, here is my new plan. You have not answered the door, and I have every reason to believe you are in there. In 30 seconds, I am going to call fire and rescue. I am going to tell them nobody has heard from you in three days, and that we have reason to believe that you have been incapacitated, maybe you slipped in the shower and hit your head, I don't know yet. But trust me, it'll be good. My guess is that we'll be breaking in your door in about 15 minutes. …And I don't want to hear one complaint. The truth is that I don't know if you are okay. You hear me, Sara…"

She opened the door before he could hang up. She was bleary eyed; her hair was in her face. Sweats hung loosely on her hips. Her t-shirt was thin and worn. Her skin was white, almost translucent. The bruises were mere shadows on her thin face. The remnants of the boot print were like a ghost fading into her cheek.

"Sara?" His voice was soft. She just stared. Her pupils seemed small. He reached out and touched her on the arm. Any concerns about her haziness were quickly erased when she brusquely pulled away and disappeared into her apartment. Grissom followed. It was dark inside. A stab of pain told him that he located her dining room table. He searched for a light, and when he couldn't, he stumbled to the wall, found a window, and raised the shades. The soft light made a difference. Next, he began pulling our shades, and opening windows. It was hot outside, but inside, it was hot and stale smelling. He would worry about the air conditioning later. He turned to find Sara seated on her couch. It had clearly become her bedroom. The floor was littered with cups and prescription bottles. Instant soup containers were strewn around the couch.

He picked one up and looked at her. "You eating anything besides salt and dehydrated vegetables?"

She ignored him.

"Sara, what's wrong?"

"When it's time to go back to work next week, I'll be there." Her voice was flat, something he had never heard from her.

He let out a breath. Puzzled as to where to take this, he began picking up containers from the ground. A few moments of awkward silence, and he stopped what he was doing, sitting down beside her.

"I don't know what to do. I want to help."

"There isn't anything you can do. I'm fine. Just tired. Pain meds, you know?"

"Yeah." He reached to the floor beside her and picked up the bottles. "You've got quite a cocktail here: Percodan, Ibuprofen, Flexerall, Vicodan. How many doctors are you seeing, Sara?"

"Just one."

"Do you suppose he or she wants you to take all of this…potentially at the same time?"

"Grissom…you don't need to be here. Swear to God, I will be back at work the minute my leave is over. Earlier, if you let me."

"Sara, I don't even know where to start."

"You know, Gris, I haven't had a shower in a couple of days. So I think I'm going to do that now. And then I'll call this afternoon and we can talk." Sara stood, simulating an energy he couldn't feel in her.

"Okay, you go ahead and do that. I'll wait right here."

"Ah, I don't think so."

Grissom stood up, blushing slightly. "Sorry. I'll wait outside your apartment."

"No! Grissom, go…away. Please."

He brushed his beard absently. "No."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No." This response had become safe territory.

She dropped back down on the couch beside him. "What do you want?"

"Right now, I'm pretty confused about that, but let's start by getting you out of this apartment."

"Grissom, I am in no condition. Really. I told you that I haven't showered in two days."

"That's okay. I'll wait. Seriously. I'll just sit here. Maybe I'll get the air circulating in this place or clean up or something."

"You want me to go out like this!" gesturing at her face.

"Bruises are almost gone, Sara. How's that shoulder feeling?"

She stared at the floor. "Okay, I'll…I don't know…Don't clean my house. It's embarrassing. Just sit. Okay. Just sit." She got up and backed away from him, making sure that he stayed seated.

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It was a rather odd assembly in Nick's opinion. Doc Robins, Warrick, Greg, David, Archie, Hodges, and Jacqui were all seated along with Nick around the large lab table. It was the table with the light underneath that Doc Robins liked so much and so he had to grin a lttle as Doc surveyed it, discussing its merits with David.

Hodges was complaining to Jacqui that he only came for the promise of free food, and if this was some sort of a joke, he certainly did not find it funny. Before he could continue his litany of unhappiness with an obviously bored Jacqui, Jim Brass came through the door with an armload of pizzas. Behind him, two officers followed, each carrying a cooler.

"Hey guys! Glad you all could make it. I have pizza for everybody: pepperoni, sausage, veggie, anchovy, and all of them with extra garlic." He passed the boxes around the table. "This is the good stuff. Like they make back in Jersey; thin and rich and greasy."

"All of them have garlic?" Greg scrunched up his face.

"Of course! Not my fault your people prefer fish soaked in lye. Which since you told me that, Greggy I have decided that Lutefisk is the single most, bizarre food thing ever."

Warrick grinned at Nick. Brass was clearly bringing a special energy with him tonight.

"So I imagine that you folks are curious as to why I called you all here tonight." He looked around the room. "We've been working a case that's, how shall I say,…dead in the water. And I've been riding these guys about it 'cause I want this perp. And I've been riding them 'cause I've been in a funk, I guess. For this I apologize. Nicky, Rick, Greg. Sorry." Greg looked around as if waiting for the joke to be on him.

Brass continued. "I was about to give up, and then I remembered this thing we used to do back in the day, pretty much before DNA, when we were sort of a loose groups of cowboys around here. We'd get all our best minds around the table and talk it out, all night if we had to. And I thought, what the hell, Gil's off for a couple of days, and so let's think outside the box."

"Jim, if you'll recall, I used to be around then, and I know exactly what you're up to."

"I know, Al. Sometimes, it was a bust. But we had our moments. In fact, I seem to remember this one time when you had…how much was it…we were working the Sampson murders, I think and …"

"Okay, all right, Jim. But those were different days. Ecklie is going to blow a blood vessel." Doc said, shaking his head.

"So what. I'm no stranger to demotion. I fully expect to spend my twilight years with the department as a beat cop on the strip. So, if you are not on board, grab some pizza and thank you for your time. Everyone else, there is soda and beer in the coolers. We are going to work this case out, step by step."

"Beer. In the lab." Hodge was staring at Brass.

"So, I said we used to be looser than we are now. Look, if we could take the evidence to a nice steakhouse, I'd be treating you all right now. But we can't. And while getting plowed would not be helpful, a couple of beers helps the time go by, maybe open up some creativity. What do ya say?"

David was already at the cooler reaching for a long neck.

"Hey David, how about a Bud." Greg was reaching toward him.

Doc Robins took one, and then looked at the beer set in front of David. "I have seen you drink, David. How about you stick to Coke."

Gradually around the table, people set to work.

"Geez, Greg. Take it easy. You drink like you still use a fake ID."

"It would have killed you to pick up a nice Merlot."

"Hodges, does your mama like you?"

"Let me take a look at that weird book. I hear it's been stomping you guys for weeks."

"For the love of pete. People, wear your latex when you are handling evidence. Just because it has been processed doesn't mean you can just start fondling it or anything."

"What's Grissom up to? Didn't think he took days off."

"Hmmm. Sara gone. Grissom gone. Methinks this is connected."

"Shut up, Hodges. Oh, and can you pass the pepperoni?"

"Did Grissom used to come to these…think and drink sessions?"

"Yeah, Greg. He used to dance on the tables. I got pictures."

"Easy, Jim. He's liable to believe you."

"Hell, I hope he did go to see Sara. She could use a friend."

"I hear that boot print on her face is going to scar."

"I swear to God, Hodges. If you do not shut it, I am going to get you some personal experience with a boot print to the cheek."

"Easy does it, Nicky. We got work to do."


	8. chapter 8

"This is adorable, you know that." Sara regarded Grissom from the far end of the fishing boat. A big, canvas fishing hat drooped over her face.

"It's the choke. Just give me a minute." Grissom struggled with the outboard engine.

"You're only pretending you know how to fish. I can tell because I actually know how to fish. You've rigged this poles wrong. I am surprised that a genius like you couldn't do a better job of simulating competence here. This is not brain surgery, you know. Do you want me to fix the outboard for you?"

"No! Thank you very much, Sara. I much prefer to have you sit there and heckle me." Grissom didn't bother to favor her with a look.

"Okay. You got this coming. You know that. You drag me out of the house. You refuse to answer questions about where we are going. And now we are sitting in the middle of Lake Mead because you thought it would be a good idea to take me fishing."

"All right, Sara. Let's try this. Do you know what's wrong with the motor?" Grissom turned back toward her.

"You never adjusted the trim. Your motor has been running at about 40-50 efficiency for the last 45 minutes. You flooded it. I figure you going to have to let it sit for an hour before you try again."

"And you didn't think to tell me any of this before."

"Hey, this is your party, and it's not like you've been keeping me informed. I've noticed this about you. Engines aren't really your thing."

"Nope. I guess not."

"And so now you have me out in the middle of this huge lake with a dead motor. What's next?"

Grissom looked around him. "Well, it's a nice day. Sunny. Beautiful scenery. Could be worse."

"Okay, but for a minute, Gris, just tell me how this all came together for you. I'm curious."

"I thought you should get out of the house. And you said you didn't want to be around people. Plus you need the fresh air, but not a lot of exercise. And…"

"And you figured that if I was in a boat that I couldn't get away if the conversation got tough."

"You do tend to disappear when you get frustrated. Often, you don't wait to see if I even have a response for you."

Sara grinned. "I like the hat you bought me. I feel like Gilligan."

"Well, you don't want to get sunburn. Not good for the healing process."

"Gris, are you my boss or my mother or my friend or my prom date or what?"

"Why are you hiding in your house?"

"Wow. So this is what's going on."

"I'm worried. Others are worried. You cut yourself off."

"At some point, Gris, you are healed enough to really understand what really happened. You notice the damage. You can see the cost of your actions on the faces around you. So you turn off the phone, take the drowsy pills, and retreat." Sara's eyes, her sole communication after the attack, were now hidden behind glasses and under her hat.

"I don't know what to say"

"So you finally have me trapped, and that's all you can think of."

"Do you remember everything?"

She turned her head away and stared at the shore for a moment. "I remember sending the kids off to the neighbors. I remember going into the house, and I remember the look on the woman's face when she was trying to tell me that her husband was coming down the stairs. I remember laying on the floor, and I could only see carpet. I couldn't seem to move. My body kind of shut down, I think. I remembered being kicked in the face and in the stomach. And I remember laying there while they talked about killing me. It was an interesting conversation. I guarantee you that."

Grissom stared at her unflinchingly, waiting.

Sara reached a hand under her glasses and squeezed at her eyes. They sat together quietly for a while; the sound of water lapping against the boar gaining presence.

She took a breath and started again. "I think I know how hard it would have been. I was around after Holly. I rememb…"

"No, Sara, you don't know." His voice was low. "You don't understand how hard it would be. You can't possibly."

"Grissom…"

"You're not Holly. Don't ever make that mistake. You've been there for five years. You're a…presence. Your heart and your passion and your tirelessness. You have friends, people who would be forever changed… Do you understand that?"

"This is why I'm trying to sleep 18 hours a day with the phone off the hook."

Grissom leaned forward. "Jim told me what he said to you. Said he told you that you weren't a hero to him. He was wrong to say that. I told him that. You risked your life to save those kids. I understand what you did."

"So I was wrong, but I also wasn't wrong." She pulled her glasses down her nose to stare at him.

"Confusing, isn't it?" He began a smile.

She scrunched up her face and stared at him, shaking her head slowly. After a moment, she leaned over the side of the boat, and, suddenly Grissom found a spray of lake water in his face. He wiped the water from his face and heard, for the first time in a long while, Sara Sidle laugh.

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"Okay, People, how are we doing?" Brass was directing from a chair in the corner, his feet up on the edge of the table. He was slowly nursing a beer, his sleeves rolled up and his jacket slung on the chair behind him. On the surface, he looked like he didn't have a care in the world. However, he had organized his group into two teams; one team working on the book and the other working on how Larry Madison could have killed Vivian without leaving any evidence. The team working on the book had become mired in the intricacies of the number and letter combinations. Brass was giving that team space. The other team was having a rather boisterous time figuring out how Vivian was killed. Keeping them in line was taking up all of his attention.

"So we have two theories going now. Hodges is working on the idea that Madison was able to enter the room, grab the paperweight, and kill Vivian without leaving any trace evidence. The rest of us have been working on how Madison might have killed her without being in the same room." Doc Robins reported.

"So Hodges is all alone on his idea," Brass observed.

Archie snorted. "So far, his only working theory is that Madison came up behind her dressed in a latex body suit, beaned her, and then took off."

"Well, it's better than whatever telekinesis theories the rest of you are working on ."

"Actually, I think we can do better than that," said Warrick. "We're thinking that Larry didn't have to be in the room. If you notice the room is situated in the basement. There are three small windows that are ground level."

"The windows were all closed, Rick. I remember that." Brass had his feet on the floor and was leaning forward.

"I have this kind of window, Jim. It opens to the inside, but if it was already open, and the killer used it to access the victim, it could be closed from the outside. My eldest did it all the time when he snuck out of the house at night. He'd climb out, tie a string to the inside handle, pull the window down, and finish closing it by pulling on the string. Took me months to figure out what he was up to."

"Okay Doc, supposing that's the case. What then? Madison takes a paperweight, throws it through the window and kills her."

"Not enough velocity for that." Warrick pushed some photos toward Brass. "But look at these photos we took when we searched Madison's truck. Lots of sports equipment. See anything in there you like?"

"You think he used a baseball bat?"

"Look harder."

Brass peered closely at the photo. A smile spread across his face. "That wouldn't be a bona fide sling shot, would it?"

"He could have sat at the open window, waited until she came in, aimed, and buried it in as deep as we found it."

Hodges grabbed the photo. "If you can get me this sling shot, I could probably find traces of glass in the sling."

Brass grabbed his phone. Soon, he was barking at a deputy about waking up a judge.

"Hey Hodges," said Warrick. "When we seize the truck, I promise to keep an eye out for that latex body suit, you know, just in case."

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Sara pulled on the cord once more. The motor puttered bravely, but couldn't hold. Sara leaned over the motor and rested. The exertion was more than she bargained for. Grissom had traded places with her. He now sat on the front end of the boat. Watching her pale, thin arm pull the cord almost made him wince. He wanted to reach over and do it for her, but he knew if he tried it, he'd be met with resistance.

"You okay?" he ventured.

"It needs more time. Probably another half hour, hour maybe." Sara brushed sweat from her brow. She settled back into her seat facing him.

"I mean it though, Sara. Are you going to be okay?"

She shrugged. "I think so. Going have bad dreams. Going to have to rebuild some trust with you, Brass too. But I can do it. Hell, I've survived worse."

"You have?"

She let out a low whistle. "I'm really just laying it out there, aren't I?"

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Grissom leaned forward.

"Ah…no, it's okay. Hard times. We've all had them. You lost your Dad. Warrick lost his parents. Catherine lost Eddie. Just a normal part of life, right?" It almost looked like her fishing hat was falling further over her face.

"Who did you lose?"

"Maybe another time, Grissom. Maybe another time."

They both sat back, silent, drifting slowly with the wave of the boat. Grissom saw a boat coming in not 200 ft. away. He thought about standing up and gesturing. He could get their attention and then they could pull them in or maybe they knew what to do about the motor. But he didn't do any of those things. For awhile, he watched her profile. She had her eyes fixed on a group waterskiing to her left. Then he tried again.

"Catherine says that I frustrate you," he stated.

Sara erupted with something close to a choke. Then she turned to look at him. "This was news to you?"

"I can be a little…obtuse, shall we say when it comes to the people around me."

"Well stated, Grissom."

"What is it that I do? What would help that?"

"Oh boy, Grissom. Don't ask questions like that unless you really want some answers."

Grissom suddenly wished he was no longer on a boat in the middle of Lake Mead with no working motor. She saw the look on his face and chuckled.

"No, it's okay, Sara. Tell me." Grissom tried to simulate a nonchalance.

"Where do I start?" Sara thought for a moment. "When we work together, you and I, sometimes there is a connection. I know what you're thinking before anyone else does. We have a communication that is…unique. It makes me feel close to you. You make me laugh. I enjoy being with you. That almost never happens for me. It makes me want more from you."

"We do work well together. I value you your friendship, Sara."

Suddenly she sat forward. "Okay, right there. This is where I want to kill you sometimes. I am saying something to you, something hard to say, and you're not listening."

"I am!"

"Grissom, there is not about us working well together. This is about…more."

"This is about you asking me out?" Grissom asked.

"You are so close to taking a header off this boat, Gilbert Grissom. I would really get secured on that end of the boat if I were you. Maybe tie on a life preserver, you know."

"I'm trying to understand."

"I'm done trying to guide you through this. You know what I am talking about."

Grissom chose his words carefully. "This is about you and I having an attraction for one another."

Sara threw her arms up in a cheer.

"And you want to act on that attraction."

"I don't know. Maybe. Right now, I'm just stunned that you acknowledged its existence. Some days, we are so in sync. It's like we're the only two people in the lab. And others, it is like I'm the receptionist whose name you forgot. Sometimes, you stare at me. Make comments that lead me to believe that I am special to you…And then nothing. You make me crazy."

"I didn't mean…"

"Stop! Don't do it, Grissom. Not one more comment about how unaware you are of what you do and how you don't mean anything. Don't make it seem like I'm crazy."

Grissom sat there for a while. And then he started slowly. "I do flirt with you, Sara. I think about you. Yours is the first face I search for when I walk in the door every evening. People notice. I know that. And every time, I sit down to consider it, I remind myself how impossible it is. And I back off."

His confession stunned her. She took her sunglasses off and perched her hat up off her face. "You admit this?"

"I do. I admit it. I don't want to make you crazy. I am just trying to handle this…situation the only way I know how."

"By ignoring it." She said it softly as if it was something she had never before considered.

"A relationship with me could ruin your career. It could ruin mine. It's inappropriate. I'm your supervisor. Ecklie would, well, he would use this against both of us. But most of all, your friendship means a lot to me. It would be a risk to that."

"You really worked this out, didn't you?"

"Yes, I have really thought this through, Sara."

"You won't even try."

"There is no try about this. There is no casual 'let's see what happens' about this. It's too much to risk. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"What about you? Maybe I wouldn't be the only one getting hurt. Maybe you think about that more than you're willing to admit."

Grissom looked puzzled. He opened his mouth to say something, but she was already pulling on the cord to the motor. It erupted into a healthy growl. Without looking back, she swung the boat around and pressed for the shore. Even in the same boat, he realized she had found ways to escape.

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"Those guys working on the slingshot angle really have a leg up on you guys. I already have a warrant sworn out on the truck. But I'm sure that by the time Warrick gets back, he would be willing to help you guys out. He's that kind of guy." Brass picked up a new beer. Greg glared at him out of the corner of his eye.

"Nicky's off checking out a lead, Jim. I wouldn't be surprised if we were on our way as well." Jacqui looked at him, hands on her hips.

"Okay, what do you got?"

"We got numbers," Greg said. "This is much harder than what they had to work on."

"Don't rile me, Saunders. It's almost three in the morning." Jim growled.

"To be more precise, we have patterns of numbers. We were able to isolate this patterns and work on them separately. That was my idea." David pushed papers of numbers in front of Brass.

"Don't bother me with specifics. I lost my ability to understand you before you even started talking." Brass was staring at him intensely. Jacqui was grinning and shaking her head.

"Oh!" David blinked. "All right then. We were able to eliminate a number of theories from the first pattern of numbers and we narrowed it down to map coordinates."

"Outstanding!" Brass swung his beer skyward.

"But which map?" Greg began. "Well, we were able to check out a few city maps with no luck, but then Nicky remembered the pocket--"

"The pocket city guide that was in Madison's truck! Of course! Where are those pictures?" Brass started to shuffle through the photos on the table. Greg quickly corralled the photos and drew them in, away from Brass.

"Well," Greg began, returning to his presentation. "Since we don't have that guide with us, we used one that Jacqui had in her car. And with it, we were able to isolate general locations all over Vegas."

"Generally in the more affluent neighborhoods." David added.

"Jacqui, thank you for your guide. You are really a beautiful woman, you know that?"

Jacqui laughed heartily.

"The next set of numbers seem to be abbreviated street addresses. The numbers and then the initials of the streets. We've been marking the coordinates here." David was gesturing at a map taped on the wall.

"Good job!"

"And then there is the third set of numbers," Greg began. As if on cue, Nick walked into the room.

"We did it. The numbers match security codes for homes at each of the addresses we identified. Security company says that there have been 8 break-ins in the last 6 months. Got past security every time." Nick was waving paper at Brass.

"Bingo!"

Nick took a look at the effusive captain and raised his eyebrows.

"I still don't get why if that book was so important, Madison didn't go in and get it."

Nick turned to him. "Ah, Greggo, here's the best part. Employee of the month for September at the security company was Ellen Campbell. Ring a bell?"

"That's Madison latest girlfriend, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Ellen steals the codes and Madison sells them. Worked great until Vivian got suspicious. No clues how that happened. But she did and stole the book. Madison didn't want the book back. He probably already sold everything in it. Naw, he just wanted to kill nosy ol' Vivian. Rigged the slingshot because he knew we would peg him as a suspect because he was a suspect in the murder of the first girlfriend murder."

"It's all circumstantial."

"Wait 'til we get Ellen in the box and show her the codes. I'm thinking we could be done by breakfast. Maybe go to the Flamingo for a little steak and eggs." Nick gave Greg a wink.

Brass was working on the phone ordering warrants on Madison and his girlfriend, Ellen. Greg reached over, grabbed a beer, and then handed another to David. David looked around for Doc Robins, and then furtively took it. Nick laughed at David, and then pulled one for himself and Jacqui. Brass got off the phone and swung a startled Jacqui into an impromptu two step. She laughed and let him lead her into the hallway.

"Jacqui baby, where have you been all my life?"

"In bed with my husband." She was enjoying the inebriated homicide detective.

She had to adjust quickly as he transitioned into a waltz.

"Did you hear what I said to Sara Sidle?" he asked.

"Yup."

"How does everybody hear everything?" Then he elaborately waved away the question. She laughed at him. "My real question is, should I apologize to her?"

"Absolutely."

"What do you think I should do?"

She pondered this and then grinned at him. "I say we pluck your fattest credit card out of your wallet, and we order roses. Deep, lusty red roses with sprays of baby's breath."

"Lusty, red…Woman, I'm trying to say that I'm sorry not…Hubba! Hubba!"

"Listen! You order these roses, but you have them delivered. I'll arrange to have them placed on that desk outside of Grissom's office. He can't miss 'em. We put on a card that says, 'Lovely Sara.' And we leave them there for half the shift before we tell Sara. It'll drive him nuts."

"Nice. I like it. Now, how about we get old Jim a thick cup of coffee before the suspects arrive." He twirled her once more, and then let her lead him off to the break room.

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It was 3 a.m. and Grissom was parked in front of Sara's apartment. She was curled up, asleep in the passenger seat. She had slept the whole drive from Lake Mead. Conversation had all but died back at the lake. And so here he was, doing what he did best with Sara Sidle. He was staring at her. She didn't look as fragile as she had when he had picked her up yesterday morning. In fact, he was more than convinced that the strong willed Sara was more than capable of recovering.

He wished he could tell her things. Like how much he liked the shape of her face. It was sort of heart shaped. He imagined running his hand down her cheek onto her neck. She moved slightly and a lock of hair slid down and settled itself across her face. It obstructed his view. He reached over cautiously, secure in her oblivion, and pushed it back. She sighed deeply and dug in more deeply against the seat.

He sat back himself and thought about the conversations of the day. Instead of reflecting reluctantly, he found himself thinking of the intimacy of her words and the honesty. He was also amazed at his own ability to share himself with her. It wasn't what he expected.

"You're a coward, you know." The grainy voice startled him out of his reverie.

He turned to see those bright, brown eyes wide open.

"And you're a bad scientist. You can't think something through when you don't see both sides."

He just listened.

"The irrational, our emotions and feelings, cannot be disregarded as some unimportant variable in an equation. It's not good science. You have to study the irrational in order to effectively enter it into your logic."

He wondered how long she had been awake, thinking of all this.

"I'm okay with your reasons. They make sense. But life isn't about the rational. That's too safe. To live life is to…risk the irrational. I need more than just a rational life." She delivered her treatise still curled up against the seat.

"You think I'm too safe," he whispered.

"Yeah, I do. Tell me that the irrational doesn't kick your ass every time you feel something real inside. Tell me that you don't fear things like confusion and desire and a loss of control."

"I do fear those things, don't you?"

"Yeah, but I'm bored with safe and predictable and lonely. Maybe this boot print actually kicked some sense into me. Maybe I realize that life is too short to spend it wishing for what might have been."

"I'm not ready." He was talking as softly as she had ever heard him.

"Just tell me you'll think about it, Grissom. Tell me you want something more out of life than crime scenes and lab work. It doesn't have to be with me. Just tell me you want something."

He dropped his gaze. She let him wrestle with it in his own time. She had dragged him through unfamiliar territory for last 20 hours. She felt like she owed him some space. Then looking up, he reached out and found her cheek. It startled her, but she swallowed her reaction and let him touch her. He stroked it softly, tracing the shadow of her injury. He stared at her, unabashed. She could hear herself breath and out. Then his hand moved behind her head and moved her toward him. The kiss was light, soft. His lips grazing hers. The hint of a taste of him with her. He drew back and looked at her. She wanted to laugh. He had this worried look as if waiting for her to disintegrate. Before she could smile, he was there again, more insistent this time. His lips parted and she was there. The smells and taste of him exhilarated her. The hints of leather, musk, and heat. She waited for his cues, letting him explore in his way. His beard found its down to her neck and a shiver ran through her. She wanted to relax and enjoy him, but she had no idea of the terms so she bided her time. His mouth returned to hers and settled there. She loved the meticulous attention he gave, not rushing anything. His hands stayed on her face and her neck. His attention solely on her mouth. It brought an intensity of focus that thrilled her. She found herself slipping into that place where reason is lost to desire. It was a lovely place, one she had dreamed of for years. She wanted to let go and free fall, but she couldn't. His words echoed through her. Arms reached out. Her arms. She pushed gently at his chest.

He blinked at her. "Sara?"

"Believe me. I really hated to do that."

"What's wrong?"

"You're not ready. Remember?" She smiled in an effort to cover the tension bursting within her.

"I thought I was supposed to explore the irrational." The hint of a smile playing on his face too.

"Yeah, well. You're a regular Magellan. Too much, too fast. You need to really think about with this. I need to think. One day, maybe, you will be able to look me in the eye, and tell me that this is what you want. When you're ready to do that, then it will be time."

"I don't know how or even when that would happen, Sara."

"It's okay. I'm not so confused about you now. It feels clearer, less like I'm an afterthought in your life. I think I can probably live with that just fine for right now."

"You're aware that you have left me a great deal more confused than when we started."

"Yeah. Sorry. Your turn. You sitting around all the time with that detached, slightly smug look on your face was really starting to piss me off." She reached up and gave his beard a little tug. He caught her hand and held it tightly. She resisted an urge to pull him into her. "Oh, and I like that thing you do with your tongue. It was very nice. Sort of playful yet insistent. I am curious as to how that might feel right here, behind my ear." She pushed her hair back and tilted her neck at him. "So you think about that, Magellan. And you let me know if you plan to be in that area anytime soon."

"You really think you should be enjoying my confusion quite this much?" He asked, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm quite sure." She tugged her hand away from him. Before he could react, she leaned in and kissed him once more. He reached for her, but she was gone, already sliding out of the cab of the SUV. She waved at him, and he watched her run up the steps, two at time, until the shadows swallowed her.

Grissom dropped his head back against the seat. He let out a great breath, and, for a moment, he entertained the explosions of feeling erupting inside him. Then he shook his head violently, trying to loosen the chaos spiraling in him, and started the car. Plans to get home and take a cold shower were foremost in his thoughts.

The End.


End file.
